


The Blood of The Wolf

by QueenOfRohirrim



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angry Lambert (The Witcher), Brothers, Childbirth, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Flashbacks, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Kaer Morhen, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mpreg, Parent Vesemir (The Witcher), Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Vesemir (The Witcher), Soft Eskel (The Witcher), Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher), Wolf Pack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:12:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26491711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfRohirrim/pseuds/QueenOfRohirrim
Summary: Long ago, the first witchers were created by the mages.Every generation after the ancients were born with their eyes of gold.
Relationships: Aiden/Coën/Lambert (The Witcher), Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Coën/Lambert (The Witcher), Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion & Lambert & Vesemir, Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Lambert, Eskel & Vesemir (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Vesemir, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Lambert & Vesemir (The Witcher)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 108





	The Blood of The Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, Witchers are born, not mutated, and The Trial of The Medallion is the only trial that exists.
> 
> I suck at summaries XD
> 
> Also, Vesemir sort of took over this first part because I wanted history and it got out of hand. I will not apologize however, because I love him!

Vesemir remembered vividly the moment he’d been told that he was going to have a younger brother.

He’d been twelve then, still about six years away from the trial of the medallion, and Rennes was just two years older at fourteen.

Vesemir had been thrilled, while his older brother groaned and muttered under his breath. “Another one?” He asked, voice almost a growl, once he was sure their father was out of earshot and wouldn’t hear him. 

Their Uncle Gardis had smacked the back of his head for that, and Vesemir pointed and laughed. 

He doesn’t remember much about Elgar’s arrival after that, and he supposes now that those memories had been somehow swiped from him after he’d endured the trial and won his place amongst the adult witchers. He’d witnessed many deaths that day, after all. Such trauma was bound to wreak havoc on the mind.

However, he did recall that dreadfully long year of constantly stepping on eggshells when his father had been pregnant with Adon, the youngest of their bunch.

He and Rennes had received their final evaluations, and had been placed accordingly into occupations that seemed to suit them best. Of course, Rennes, the golden son, was given a place amongst the senior witchers straight away, as was his right as the headmaster’s eldest son and heir. Vesemir, meanwhile, had been given a teaching job, as well as being sentenced to the life of a homemaking witcher; looking after the keep and preparing for the homecoming of the path walkers in the Winter.

His new duties were draining, and returning to Master Barmin’s private wing of the castle after a long and tiring day was even worse during the year before Adon’s birth.

His father was always on edge, so irritable and angry at something or someone every minute of every day. No one could talk to him without going through Gardis or Rennes, or else they’d risk a beating or a dagger to the throat.

Even worse than the rage, though, were the tears. Poor young Elgar was saddened at their father’s cries, and often ran to Vesemir for comfort.

“What’s wrong with Papa?” He’d sob against his brother’s shoulder as Vesemir tried to rock him to sleep, their father weeping into the sleeve of his own brother in the room just down the hall.

“He’s alright, pup.” Vesemir had tried his best to assure little Elgar. “Sometimes the baby in his belly makes him a little sad.”

Looking back, those probably weren’t the wisest words to use.

“I don’t like the baby!” Elgar had declared. “It makes Papa sick too! And it hurts his back and his feet! It’s a bad baby!”

And thus, the century long feud between Elgar and Adon had begun, the fire fueled when the younger decided that he was ready to greet the world. Barmin’s screams of agony during the delivery had Elgar in a crying fit as he waited with his brothers in their private sitting room.

It had all seemed to be worth it afterwards. At least Vesemir thought so when he was finally allowed to see his baby brother. His perfect baby brother.

“Bad! Bad baby!” Elgar insisted still.

At least Rennes admitted that the new pup was “sort of” cute.

“Looks too much like Ves.” He’d shrugged, and Vesemir punched him for it.

...

It was quite awhile later that destiny decided that it was time to come knocking at Vesemir’s door with a surprise gift.

Elgar and Adon had both grown, passed their trials, and had been sent out onto the path. It was Adon’s first season away from Kaer Morhen and Barmin was worried, despite his assertions to the contrary.

Thank the gods for Rennes’ training keeping their father’s troubled mind occupied, as Vesemir wasn’t sure he could have handled an irritable Barmin along with his own troubles.

Teaching was going well for him, if nothing else.

He enjoyed the fencing classes, giving instruction to young wolves, teaching them to fight, and hopefully helping them to prepare for their own battle with the trial.

It was the other part of his job that had him so tired all of the time. Homemaking witchers, it seemed, never had time to rest. 

Not only that, but his duties had also gotten him into a troubling situation. Or rather, one of the path walkers had upon returning for the Winter and finding Vesemir making final preparations on his room.

Vesemir couldn’t say he hadn’t contributed to said situation himself, because he had. The other wolf had been quite handsome...as had the other two who had arrived a week after him.

Unfortunately for Vesemir, the homemakers weren’t allowed access to contraceptive potions until they’d produced at least two pups of their own. And so, about a month into that Winter, the morning sickness began to set in.

He’d known exactly what was happening to him, but what was he supposed to say to Barmin? His Father was already under so much stress, waiting for Elgar and Adon to return home. Surely this sort of announcement wouldn’t be helpful. At least it wouldn’t be yet.

Vesemir still has no clue what he ever would’ve done without the help of his Uncle Gardis. 

“Have you seen the mages?” The elder witcher inquired, expression serious but voice gentle and reassuring. 

Vesemir shook his head.

“Your father needs to know.” Gardis sighed. “This isn’t cause for turmoil, lad. It’s a wonderful thing.”

Ah yes. Homemaking witchers were encouraged to breed in those days. The mages had practically made it a requirement for them all.

“I’m scared, Uncle.” Vesemir had confessed, tears stinging his eyes.

“I know, my boy.” Gardis opened his arms and pulled his nephew into a hug. “It’ll be alright. You’ll see...We’ll tell your father together. Then you need to see a mage.”

Gardis was with Vesemir every step of the way. From telling Barmin to the mage’s exam, to finding out that his suspicions were correct, his uncle never left his side. Nor did his father once he’d been told.

“You’re far more resilient than I.” Barmin assured his nervous son after the mage had sent them away with a list of strict instructions. “If I managed to birth and raise four of you pups, one will be no trouble for you.”

It was though. It was terrible. 

Morning sickness was merciless, Vesemir came to find, and even when that phase had passed, more pains came to plague him.

His clothes weren’t fitting anymore, and the first time his trousers could no longer be buttoned properly he couldn’t stop himself from weeping over them like a fool. 

Barmin often found his boy weeping in the mornings as he looked at himself in the mirror, desperately trying to hide his growing belly, and then again in the evenings when he’d finally returned from his daily tasks, tired and aching and desperately needing a long rest.

The headmaster did what he could to comfort his son, hugging him tight, telling him that these feelings he was having wouldn’t last much longer, and that he was sure that Vesemir would come through it all just fine.

It never seemed to be enough. Vesemir was always upset, and the further he got into the pregnancy, the worse the aches and pains in his body became. Eventually he had to be excused from teaching, as his back had begun to hurt so much he couldn’t stand for long periods of time. Swollen ankles didn’t help, and neither did the intense heartburn he’d been having since the fifth month in.

His homemaking duties were still demanding his attention, but soon those too were put off as he drew closer and closer to his time.

Adon and Elgar came back with the early birds that Winter. They’d both wanted to be sure they made it back in time to meet their nephew when he arrived, and if they had been just two days delayed, the pup would have already been waiting to greet them.

Vesemir wasn’t exactly sure what was happening when his labor had finally begun. The pains weren’t terrible at first, and for about an hour they were mild enough to ignore.

Then his water broke at the dinner table that night and sent him into an internal panic.

“Papa!” He whimpered at Barmin, as he looked desperately to his father for help.

The next thing he knew, he was being carried to his room, Barmin shouting for Rennes to fetch a mage and handing out orders for the others to bring towels and boil water.

“Stay out of the way, Adon!” He’ll always remember that one. “And behave yourself!”

The birth was one of the easiest the mage had ever attended. At least it was according to her. 

“Seven hours from beginning to end is almost unheard of.” She relayed to Barmin with great fascination. “Especially for a first time carrier.”

Barmin hummed politely, still wiping sweat from his exhausted son’s feverish face as the sorceress rambled on.

It had all felt like hell to Vesemir, no matter how simple the mage had claimed his labor to be. Though once he was holding his tiny son, every moment of agony suddenly seemed well worth it.

Vesemir will never forget that moment, holding his first newborn pup against his still heaving chest just seconds after delivering the little one into the world.

“Good work, son.” Barmin smiled down at Vesemir as he carefully placed a fresh cool rag over the younger wolf’s forehead. 

“Little fella’s got lots of hair.” Gardis chuckled, leaning closer to see but still giving Vesemir and his pup plenty of space. Those first minutes of bonding were important for both bearer and babe and the wolves knew better than to get in the way.

Vesemir didn’t fight the tears in his eyes this time. He looked down at his little pink whimpering pup and sobbed. “Welcome home, Eskel.” He sniffled and nuzzled the baby’s soft dark hair. “My Eskel.”

Vesemir had never before felt such a pure, unshakeable love for another being, but that was the moment that everything change for him.

What was even more miraculous was that it soon happened all over again, as he managed to get pregnant for the second time just under a year later at the end of Autumn. 

A few path walkers had returned early that year, carrying a wounded brother back to the keep for healing and waiting around until they were sure he’d live.

The company of a few homekeepers was quite a nice distraction, and Vesemir hadn’t been the only one to walk away from that experience with a seed in his belly.

Little Eskel was delighted, though Vesemir wasn’t exactly sure that his pup truly understood what was going on.

The little pup gurgled and cooed his little half words, trying his best to shout “baby!” as his tiny hand patted gently at Vesemir’s growing belly. 

“Eskel can’t believe his time as an only child is already ending.” Adon smirked, laughing when Vesemir threw a pillow from the couch in his direction. 

“At least he seems excited.” Rennes hummed. “I remember when you were on the way, Addie. Elgar wanted nothing to do with a new baby.”

“I still don’t.” Elgar muttered before being grabbed and taken to the ground by Adon for a wrestling match.

Eskel clapped his little hands and giggled.

“Pups!” Barmin peeked into the sitting room to bark at his sons. “Knock it off!”

He told Vesemir after that, that for his sake, he hoped that his boys got along better than his brothers did.

It wasn’t long after this that the headmaster’s second son found himself writhing in agony in his bed, groaning through contractions as he labored with his own second pup.

Barmin and Gardis were at his side again, just as they had been when he’d given birth to Eskel. Vesemir was glad for that. Any wolves with lesser strength than his father and uncle wouldn’t have walked away from the delivery with their hands still intact.

Though his second pregnancy had been easier compared to the first, labor lasted longer than with Eskel, nearly five hours more than his previous record of seven, and it fucking hurt. 

Once it was finally time to push, the Witcher could have cried with relief. If only the fool of a mage hadn’t frightened him so as his son’s head was just beginning to crown.

“Oh! Good heavens...” The sorceress gasped with widened eyes.

That had sent Vesemir into panic and he looked desperately to Barmin for help.

“It’s alright, son.” He’d promised. “Everything’s fine. Focus now.”

“You’re doing great, pup!” Gardis tried to encourage his nephew. “Keep pushing! We can see him!”

The baby was out moments later, and the moment Vesemir pulled him up to his chest, he immediately realized what had worried the mage. His son’s hair, hair that should have been dark like his own, was instead a snowy white.

“We’ll need to run a few tests.” The sorceress insisted to Barmin while Vesemir protectively held his very quiet pup, who was looking up at him the whole time with curious golden eyes.

“You’ll not be running anything.” The elder witcher growled. “Not now. You said it yourself, the lad’s healthy as can be.”

“Yes,” The mage nodded. “But his mutations are altered...If I could just take him for a few moments...”

“I’ll have you tossed from the highest tower of this keep if you try.” Barmin promised. 

That was the first time Vesemir had ever heard his father speak out directly against the mages of Kaer Morhen.

“You gonna name this little one?” Gardis was still trying to distract him from the conversation being held outside his bedroom door. “He looks like an Eric to me.”

“No.” Vesemir managed to roll his eyes at his uncle, who had already suggested the title several times, along with Roger and a few others that Vesemir scarcely believed were even real names. “I told you already that I chose his name. I’m calling him Geralt.”

“Alright, alright.” Gardis chuckled, looking down at the tiny pup in his nephew’s arms. “I suppose Geralt does suit him better. Geralt the White Wolf.”

...

Vesemir had begun taking the contraceptive potions immediately after Geralt had been weaned. 

He had done his duty for the school and produced two pups to carry on the blood of the wolves. Now, he could worry less about anymore unintentional additions and focus on training his two strong, rambunctious sons to become mighty witchers.

Eskel and Geralt grew quickly, far too quickly for Vesemir’s liking, and before he knew it they had both graduated and passed the trial of the medallion.

The final evaluations for both of his sons were brought to him from Rennes, who had now taken up his seat as headmaster after the loss of Barmin and Gardis to the viscous cats.

“They’ve been chosen for the path.” Vesemir’s brother told him, a hidden hint of pride in his ever stoic voice. “The date is set. In Spring, Eskel and Geralt will leave Kaer Morhen to hunt.”

Vesemir wasn’t sure what to feel in that moment. He wanted to be proud. Of course he did. But...His family should have been with them to share that pride. His father, his uncle...Elgar and Adon...They were all lost now. He and Rennes were all that was left of what had been their pack before. Thank the gods Vesemir still had his sons, but now he worried for them. He worried himself sick.

At least that’s what he’d assumed was happening when the vomiting began, waking him in the mornings, pestering him during mealtimes, and even making sleep difficult at night.

“You’re not well.” Rennes noted, having called Vesemir to his office after observing a few of his latest classes. His brother had to halt the lessons to puke up his lunch one day and then his breakfast the next. “I cannot have you teaching while ill, Vesemir. I suggest you see one of the mages.”

“I’m fine.” The younger witcher had tried to resist his brother’s demands, only to find his stomach turning again where he sat. He swallowed back the urge to throw up, but Rennes was no fool. 

“I’ll call upon a substitute until you’ve recovered, little brother.” The headmaster insisted. “Find a mage and get some rest...If this should have anything to do with your concern for your sons, I assure you, Geralt and Eskel will be walking back through our gates before the first snows fall in Winter.”

Vesemir sighed, wanting to argue again, but he did not. Long ago, he would have, but he hated fighting with Rennes now. His older brother was all he had left of the others.

“Fine.” He reluctantly obeyed the Master. “But if you allow some fool to take over my classes, I’ll not be pleased.” 

With assurance that only the best of instructors would be chosen to fill in for him, Vesemir walked himself to the Tower of the Mages and knocked upon the laboratory door. 

He hadn’t expected to leave with the news he’d been given. 

He was pregnant again.

...

Geralt and Eskel returned home from their first season on the path and immediately ran to Vesemir, never once fighting as their father wrapped them both up into crushing hugs and kissed their foreheads.

“Welcome home, pups!” Vesemir greeted them, relieved and happier than he’d been in a long time. His boys were safe and sound, back behind the walls of their home once more, and now he had his confession to make.

“We’re...” Eskel tried to speak first, but couldn’t find the proper words to reply to his father’s announcement over dinner that night. Geralt had dropped his fork, seemingly unable to speak at all.

“You’re going to have a little brother arriving soon.” Vesemir repeated himself, touching his middle, which was just beginning to show.

He worried briefly that his boys might not be pleased, but once the initial shock of the news wore down, both Eskel and Geralt were grinning from ear to ear, talking excitedly of teaching the new pup how to wield a sword, helping him with signs, and teaching him all of their favorite games from childhood that they still played even now.

Even Rennes was glad to hear of Vesemir’s pregnancy. Though the new headmaster had grown into a rather cold and bitter old wolf, his brother couldn’t miss the joy that danced behind his eyes when he’d told him that he was to be an uncle once more.

It seemed that this was just what his family needed after all of the pain and loss they’d suffered. A little bit of hope, and suddenly every remaining member of their little pack seemed to look at life with a bit more optimism than usual.

The only one who did not seem at all happy was the newest addition himself. Sometimes, Vesemir even swore that this pup was trying to kill him.

His first pregnancy with Eskel had been rough, sure, but that was because it was his first. This, his third time carrying, was quite literally hell.

All of the usual symptoms were there once again for this third time around. The Witcher’s back ached terribly as his belly grew round and his feet began to swell.

This pup was picky about certain smells, and the list of ones he detested was quite long. Therefore, morning sickness turned into an all day event, even stretching into the evenings when Vesemir was trying to sleep.

He couldn’t enjoy his favorite meal of rabbit stew anymore, and coffee was off the table entirely, as well as chamomile tea, roasted corn, any form of carrot or sweet potato, along with a variety of other things that Vesemir had once found appetizing.

This was all awful but back pains, swollen ankles, and the constant morning, noon, and night sickness suddenly became the least of Vesemir’s problems when the baby began to kick.

Somehow the little one always managed to hit a kidney or the bladder, and when he kicked he kicked hard, nearly taking Vesemir off his feet with the force and the pain.

The pup also had an endless amount of energy, it appeared, for he never tired and was always flipping around in his father’s womb, kicking and punching at everything he could aim at.

As if that weren’t enough, he’d also taken to using Vesemir’s bladder as a pillow after dancing upon it all day long, and the aging wolf became accustom to the ridiculous amount of piss breaks he needed to take during the day and in the middle of the night.

That year was miserable, carrying the little beast of a wolf around inside him for so long. Then of course, his little troublemaker had to make a terrible fuss about coming into the world as well...or rather, not coming into the world, as the pup didn’t seem to be thrilled about his impending eviction.

Vesemir was two weeks past due when one of the mages finally decided to give him a potion to induce labor.

He hadn’t been the least bit prepared for the ordeal that awaited him shortly after downing the foul tasting concoction. 

Contractions began soon after taking the potion but they were few and far between, staying that way for quite awhile until just after midnight when a terribly painful one hit, waking him from an already uncomfortable sleep.

By then he’d reached the seven hour mark. That’s how long it had taken for Eskel to be born. This labor was only just beginning, and the pup planned on making his father wait for a good long while.

Rennes was sent for and came to help his brother handle the contractions from the twelfth bell until dawn. It had been nearly thirteen hours then, already longer than Geralt’s delivery and still the pains weren’t closing in on each other much at all.

Rennes sent Eskel to fetch a mage and the sorcerer did what he could to help speed things up. He broke Vesemir’s waters, gave him another round of the disgusting potion from before, and suggested a variety of laboring positions that would help to lower the pup into the birth canal.

The little brat fought still, determined to stay where he was and Vesemir suffered through another gruesome seven hours. It had nearly been a full day and still he had nothing to show for his efforts.

“I can’t do this...” He grunted at Rennes through a contraction while his brother helped him to stay upright and on his feet, rubbing the small of his back while Vesemir groaned in pain.

“You can.” The older witcher hummed softly in reply. “You can and you’re going to. I don’t remember giving you permission to quit, little brother.”

“Fucking hurts...” Vesemir struggled to breathe the pain away.

“You’re doing fine. Just breathe. I’m here.” Rennes whispered, hoping to soothe his suffering sibling. He was trying, and Vesemir was grateful but he suddenly found himself wanting to cry out for his father.

“I think maybe a warm bath might help with the pain.” The mage suggested before Vesemir allowed tears to squeeze past the lids of his eyes. 

He still wanted to shout for Barmin, and the thought of doing so hung onto his mind as he was helped into a tub of hot water, heated by a powerful igni cast by Eskel, who had helped to fill the bath.

“Papa would be so proud of you.” Rennes told his brother once he was settled in the water, as if he’d been able to read Vesemir’s mind. 

The whimpering wolf held back a sob, but it came out with a powerful contraction.

“Easy, Easy.” Rennes held his brother’s hands, helping him to breathe through the pain and nuzzling against his neck to comfort him. “Nearly there, Ves. Hold on just a bit longer, alright?”

It took another five hours, but finally, as his labor was just squeezing past the one day mark in length, Vesemir tensed with the unbearable urge to push. 

“That’s it.” Rennes encouraged his brother. “Come on. Don’t fight it.”

“I need you to push now, dear wolf.” The mage told his patient. “That’s it...A little more...Just a bit harder...Perfect. Take a deep breath and do that again.”

Vesemir wasn’t sure how much time was passing by at that point. He only knew that he needed to get this pup out now!

“Good job, Ves.” Rennes whispered behind him, holding both of his brother’s hands tightly in his own. “There’s the head! I can see it...”

The laboring witcher couldn’t help the sharp cries of pain that jumped from his throat. It just hurt so much and he was so tired and sore.

“Shh, Shh, it’s alright. Keep pushing.” Rennes urged him onward. “He’s got hair, Ves. It’s even darker than Eskel’s.”

Vesemir shouted again when his pup’s head slipped out completely.

“One more!” Rennes promised. “One more push, Ves! Come on!”

His brother bore down with all the strength he had left and finally the pup emerged, already wailing at the top of his lungs when the mage lifted him up and placed him against his father’s chest.

“You did it!” Rennes actually smiled, kissing Vesemir’s forehead. “It’s all over, Ves. He’s here.”

The baby coughed and continued to scream at his father, the grumpiest look set upon his chubby little face as Vesemir held him close.

“He’s so angry...” the Witcher chuckled weakly between sobs and sniffles. “Don’t cry, Lambert. Papa’s got you now.”

...

Vesemir sighed and sat the old sketch of his youngest pup back upon the edge of his desk.

All three times he’d brought a new life into the world had been different, but he knew exactly what the first signs were and how to spot them.

Geralt had said nothing as of yet, but Vesemir had cause for concern. 

His son had arrived to Kaer Morhen with that bard of his in tow, looking much too plump for a witcher who had been out on the path all season long. That wasn’t a bad thing, of course, but it got the old wolf wondering.

The fact that Geralt’s appetite had grown since last winter wasn’t unusual, but the avoiding of foods he usually scarfed down certainly was. Then of course there was the nausea, which his son tried to keep hidden from him, as well as from Jaskier. The chronic headaches were worrying as well, and the exhaustion that seemed to plague him through most hours of the day.

The bard was wiser than he looked, for he had seen these changes in Geralt as well, and bravely sought Vesemir out for advise.

“He won’t tell me what’s going on.” The young man worried. “I just...I thought maybe if you...He’ll listen to you, I’m sure, my Lord.”

“Not a Lord.” Vesemir sighed at Jaskier. “But you’re not wrong about Geralt. He has been behaving strangely...I’ll see what I can do.”

“Oh thank you, my Lor-uh-Vesemir! Thank you, Vesemir. Anything you can get out of him, I’ll be forever indebted for your efforts.”

Vesemir hummed and gave Jaskier a fatherly pat to the shoulder. “Don’t thank me.” He told the bard as he left for his study. “Geralt’s my son.”

The elder witcher came downstairs the next morning to find the most reserved of his pups already awake and waiting at the dining table.

He greeted Geralt, told him good morning, and ruffled his snowy hair gently, before putting a kettle of peppermint tea over the fire in the kitchen.

“I thought you preferred chamomile.” Geralt hummed after cautiously scenting the air. 

“Peppermint will help with your stomach.” Vesemir replied, grabbing the kettle again once it started to whistle and pouring two cups for himself and his son.

“I didn’t say anything about stomach troubles.” Geralt grumbled, accepting the tea and slowly taking a sip.

“You don’t need to say anything.” Vesemir promised. “I know my boys better than anyone. I can tell when you’re feeling out of sorts.”

Geralt put his cup down, sighing deeply and staring across the room at nothing at all. 

“Something you want to say?” Vesemir inquired. “You have that look on your face...What’s troubling you, pup?”

Geralt sighed again and he was silent for a bit longer, wondering whether he should answer or not.

“I think I’m pregnant.” He finally decided to admit. Vesemir nodded.

“I believe you are too.” He agreed. 

To be continued...


End file.
